The dry turkey, the insufferable relatives, the leftovers. (Oy, the leftovers.) Can't we skip it this year (and next)?

Welcome to The Nitpicker. Jason Kessler loves to complain almost as much as he loves to eat. Join him on his journey through the imperfect universe of food.

You're going to hate me for this. I've already come to terms with that fact and I'm ready to move on in the name of nitpicking. You probably have incredible memories of Thanksgiving, filled with beautiful birds and perfect pies. I have those memories, too, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I Total Recall-ed those memories into my brain via years of Very Special Thanksgiving episodes on TV. The reality of Thanksgiving is almost always a letdown. Dry turkey, forced conversation with relatives, and baby-food casseroles. I realize this is blasphemy at this time of year, but I'm sick of Thanksgiving.

The message of the holiday isn't lost on me. In fact, I love taking time to appreciate all the great things I have in my life. It's ironic, though, that what we're really giving thanks for is the knowledge the Native Americans imparted to us before we basically yoinked their land away. It's kind of like Mark Zuckerberg texting "thx, guys!" to the Winklevoss Twins every year when he gets his financial statements in order. It's important to be thankful, but not at the expense of others.

When you really think about it, Thanksgiving is a holiday for children. My first Turkey Day memory is from first grade, when we had a big feast and drank "pilgrim stew" from styrofoam cups. It had chunks of potatoes and peas in it, which seemed both exotic and historic to my 7-year-old self. That set my gold standard for Thanksgiving food, and since then it's been mostly downhill. As I've grown older, I've become aware that the traditional Thanksgiving meal tastes much better as memory than as reality. More often than not, the turkey turns out drier than sawdust, the gravy comes from a mix, and some side dish appears courtesy of a recipe that never should have been written. Mom, I love you, but when you mix orange zest into our cranberries, it makes me really sad. It also gives me acid reflux. As an adult, you don't just get to sit down and eat. There's food to prepare, tables to set, and dishes to wash. Nowadays, the meal barely justifies the work.

There's also the issue of leftovers. Oy, the leftovers. You end up eating them for days upon days. Sure, that first Thanksgiving sandwich is great, but those feelings change mightily around the third or fourth. That turkey isn't magically going to grow juicy with time. (And if it does, you've got a different kind of problem.) So we suffer. We finish off the last of the sweet potato casserole and the cranberry sauce despite ourselves. (And, honestly, if cranberries were so spectacular, wouldn't we be eating them all year long?) Thanksgiving is a trick. It inspires us to make this enormous bountiful meal, and then we resign ourselves to a culinary purgatory where we can't move on with our lives until the fridge is empty.

We don't need Thanksgiving. It's too close to the major December celebrations (Hanukkah and those other ones) as it is. We need to space out our federal holidays. April's looking pretty open. Let's start a new spring planting holiday in April where we celebrate all the food we're looking forward to with appropriate portions, no small talk, and a minimum of relatives. I would say we should do away with Thanksgiving altogether, but this may just be sour cranberries on my part. See, I can't make it home to Chicago this year, and I'm already getting wistful about missing Mom's turkey--her beautiful, dry, nearly inedible turkey.

Based in Los Angeles, Jason Kessler has written for television shows such as NBC's The Office, True Jackson, VP on Nickelodeon, and The MTV Movie Awards. Photo by Matt Armendariz.